


Hello From The Otherside

by SoundOfMadness



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Slow Build, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 07:43:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20239222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoundOfMadness/pseuds/SoundOfMadness
Summary: Emma wakes up each day, does her routine, takes the medication they force upon her and hope that today brings her one step closer to seeing Regina again. But, where is Regina? Henry and the doctors say she's a figment of Emma's mind, but the Savior doesn't believe them.Where is her wife?Will Emma find her once again, or will she succumb to the lonely darkness inside her mind?





	1. Journal Entry #1 "Happy Birthday."

**Author's Note:**

> After a long hiatus, my muse decided to grace me with her presence. Briefly. This will be an ongoing story that will continue as long as I have inspiration to write it, not meaning to be harsh but that's the bare bones of it. For those of you who have read either of my two stories prior to this, I can assure you it isn't like them. This story idea came to me during a nightmare and, as a therapeutic attempt, I decided to let the horror run its course on the page. Huge shout-out to my fiance who not only makes me a better creator, but give me the swift kick in the ass as my partner and ever incredible editor. I love you, La Mia Anima.
> 
> Read the tags for trigger warning. Pay attention to the chapter titles. Buckle your seatbelts and prepare for turbulance. 
> 
> But.
> 
> Most importantly, let's find the happy ending together.
> 
> P.S. I know some writers don't enjoy recieving reviews saying, "Where's the next chapter?" or "Write more!" but, I can assure you, I do enjoy getting those reviews and I encourage feedback. Enjoy, lovelies.

Today’s your birthday. You’re supposed to be turning forty. The big four-oh. You used to say how pointless age was, considering the curse. I miss the way the laugh lines on your face scrunched together when you talked about things you didn’t like. I miss you a lot, actually. I never thought I’d be capable of missing someone so much. Clearly, I’m not including the kid, don’t give me that look. He’ll always be my world, but you were the moon and stars. It feels like an eternity since I’ve felt your fingers on my skin. A century since I’ve woken up in the middle of the night and pulled you tightly against my chest. A lifetime since the vibration of your heartbeat tickled my lips as we made love. 

If I’m being honest, I’ve lost track of the days and it’s only getting worse. I wake up each day to a metallic alarm, throw off the itchy blankets, and start working out like we used to. As if that shit is going to bring you back. They tell me you’re never coming back. They say you’re gone for good and the sooner I choose to heal, the better it’ll be for everyone. But, you know me, I don’t believe that shit. I refuse to believe for one second that you can’t be on the other side of that heavy door. 

There are some days I question whether any of this is real. Did Henry really come all the way from a place that technically didn’t exist in Maine and find me in my unlisted apartment in Boston? Did I really break a curse, find out my parents were fairytale characters, and later marry the “Evil Queen?” When I write that down on paper, I guess that does sound pretty insane. But I know it all happened, that it’s all true. You’re the truest existence I’ve ever known. I may be the product of true love and our son is the truest believer, but you have always been True North, my compass. I wish I could spend your birthday with you, even though you loathe the idea of getting older and have a special box of hate with my name on it when I force you to celebrate being on this earth. 

After I finish the pushups, the ones you insisted on adding to the workout (but never actually did), I moved through the yoga poses you taught me. God, the laughs we had about you and Henry doing the Mommy and Me Yoga. Those are some of my favorite memories of yours that you’d recount for my benefit. It still amazes me how generous you’d been with me over the years. It can’t have been easy on you, especially not in the beginning. You never got too mad when Henry and I almost melted the kitchen to the ground. You only yelled for, like, maybe a minute when I attempted to trim the apple tree during hurricane season and ended up cutting a third of it off. And, hey, the control you showed when my mom bought you that sweatshirt with the bluebird. That’s the kind of shit that’ll take you straight to sainthood in heaven. 

You’ll always be my angel. Even if you’re not here.

I miss you, Regina. I can’t wait to see you again, Babe.

Happy birthday.


	2. Journal Entry #2 "Come back to me."

I finally beat that asshole in cards, Babe! First time ever and I’m on cloud nine. I celebrated and yelled and danced, and then I went running to my room to gush my excitement to you… But, the room was empty. It’s always empty. Four plain walls, a tiny skylight, a desk that’s seen better days, a shitty metal chair that’s not moving unless it’s unbolted, and a mattress that kills my back. It really puts into perspective how blessed I was to slip underneath your too-fancy-for-me sheets and lay on that butter-like memory foam. Leave it to you to curse an entire kingdom and make damn sure you have the comfiest bed to ever exist. I hate always missing things like that.

I hate it here.

I hate the short periods of silence with long bursts of screaming. Sometimes, the screaming even comes from my room. Usually during the early hours in the morning after I’m rocked awake by the cold reality of not having you asleep next to me in so long. The air feels thin here. Chemical and clean in a way that you can taste. But food hasn’t had taste in a long time. No matter how much salt or black pepper I add, what barely passes for food tastes bland and mass-produced. Do you remember the face you made when I told you I’d never put black pepper in my food? Shit, I couldn’t stop laughing. The sheer horror contorting you face. Priceless, Babe. It always surprised you when something as simple as black pepper came up. You had to teach me so many things, too many things, if my pride would allow me to say that aloud instead of just in this journal. I was so stubborn and hard-headed when all you were trying to do was enlighten me with the ways of your world, the old one and the one you curated to raise our son in. I’m so sorry, Regina.

Where are you? Did I do something to upset you? They say it’s mind over matter. As if I’m supposed to make myself forget the love of my life like it never happened. They say I need to focus on what is, not what isn’t. All I care about is you and the kid. Our Sunday morning breakfasts with the homemade buffet and terrible 90s cartoons you pretend you don’t like. I even miss helping Henry do his math homework, even though we both know I'm terrible at it and you have to proof-read everything I help the kid with. Christ, it’s a good thing me and the kid have you because Henry would be shit at math and I wouldn’t remember to wear underwear. I see the smile you’re beaming. You have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. The way your face lights up when you’re happy is contagious and I miss it. 

I’ll write you more later, tomorrow is family day and I should probably get to sleep. Curfew was hours ago. I hope I see you tomorrow. Please come back to me.


	3. Journal Entry #3 March "I just want to come home."

Henry got so mad at me today. He doesn’t think I’ve made any progress and I’m purposely trying to keep myself here with all of this “crazy talk” of you coming back. He doesn’t understand why I cling so tightly to the illusion of you and why he can’t be enough for me to get better. 

I didn’t know what to say to him. He left before I even got a chance to apologize. He walked right past me, Regina. He didn’t even bother to say goodbye, he just left. That’s not the son we raised. More importantly, that’s not the son you raised before I blew into town and taught him all of his bad habits. Just the memory of the thoughtful smile you give me when I’d say something like that breaks my heart. 

The tall assholes with white scrubs just sat there and watched smugly as our son stormed out through the doors. One of them even had the nerve to smirk at me. I nearly got out of my seat to make him taste my fist. It’s bad enough I don’t know where you are and our son hates me. 

This is hell.

I’m living in hell, and it’s soaked in medical-grade white paint. 

This place is like a bad rip-off of that medical show you used to try and make me watch. Something Anatomy? Fucking terrible. I still don’t understand what the appeal to that is. The only good one on there was the wicked smart heart chick, Cristina something? Yang! Yeah, that one. I already know the look you’re giving me. Seriously, Regina, the whole show is centered around a couple of dudes that everyone swoons over, one is a cheater and the other one has slept with the whole hospital, practically. Thank god people here are too miserable to be hooking up in coat closets or on-call rooms because I swear if I see something I can’t bleach out of my head, I’ll put my head through a wall. 

I’m ready to come home, Regina. I’ll even watch that dumb show with you again. 

I just want to come home.


	4. Journal Entry #4 "Some fucking hospital."

It’s been over a month since Henry last visited me. He didn’t seem angry from the last visit, so that was nice. I’ve learned to bite my tongue around him. He doesn’t like when I tell my “stories.” I’m not sure what the fuck that’s supposed to mean. You’re not just a few pages in a storybook. You’re an existence. WE had an existence, together, all of us. I’m not sure what upsets me more, him not remembering you or him trying to force me to forget. He talks with “them,” you know? They think I don’t seem them sulk into the hallways and whisper softly enough to blend into the chaos that surrounds everything here. 

I’m starting to think he’s not really our Henry. Sure, I have the stretch marks and I remember what labor felt like, but what happened to the heart of the truest believer? What a crock of shit. If that was really our kid, he would be the first to have a name, plan and PowerPoint presentation on Operation Whatever-the-Hell. I’d be smiling and you’d be rolling your eyes like you always do. Always the skeptic and me, the dreamer. Dreamer was always a more polite version of “idiot,” which I appreciated. 

I tried to keep track of the days since I’ve been here, but every time I go to add the tally mark in my room, they disappear. It’s maddening. I feel like I’m going crazy. Which, is pretty funny, since they call this place a hospital. Some fucking hospital.


	5. Journal Entry #5 "I want to come home..."

Today was terrible. Three little white pills, one weirdly-shaped green one, and a pink one big enough to choke me. They tell me I have to keep taking them, but we all know most days I don’t. Today, they held me down. They almost gave me a shot, too. The bastards claim the pills are for us and the shots are for their safety, and they’re both necessary. I got one of the nicer nurses, I don’t know his name, and he decided I wasn’t combative enough for a shot. 

I was learning how to play cribbage with old Widow Withers, who is actually Granny but she can’t remember, and they stormed me. One minute I’m opening my mouth to ask another pointless question about the rules and the next my chair goes out from under me. For the record, concrete is not a comfortable place to lie anymore. It’s cold, the loose bits tug at your clothes, and the ache of its touch lasts for days. It’s not my first time being thrown down, but it’s been a good almost twenty years. 

Babe, where are you? Why am I here? Was I so bad you decided to leave me here and with these people? Why can’t anyone remember who they are, who WE are? 

Didn’t I fold the laundry the way you liked? I know it took too long for me to get it right, but I did. Maybe it was too little too late. Maybe all of my efforts were too little too late. I should’ve never teased you so much. I should’ve taken you coffee more and helped the kid better with his homework. Maybe I wouldn’t be here alone right now. The metal frame and thin mattress in my room doesn’t come close to your soft pillows and perfume-soaked sheets. Can I come home now? I want to come home.


	6. Journal Entry #6 "I'd give my last breath..."

I’m sorry, Regina. I couldn’t stop myself. I know what you’re going to say. “You’re a fucking idiot, Swan. You know better than that.” Well, goddamnit, in my defense, I’m starting to think I’m never going to see you again. What good is living when it isn’t with you? What good is waking up in the morning to these four concrete walls, drop of natural light, and the smell of disinfectant if there isn’t a chance in Hell that I’ll ever see you again? The truth is, there isn’t. 

I think karma is finally coming back to bite me in the ass and trap me in this shitty confinement. Fucked up with Neal, fucked up with Henry, and definitely fucked up plenty of other times after that. There’s no other explanation to this. I can’t think of any other explanation or reasoning that would land me here in this bullshit. I must’ve fucked up so bad that karma just had enough of my bullshit. Whatever it was or is, I want to take it back. I want to go back to Sunday morning breakfasts that occasionally end with the smoke detector providing a soundtrack to my cooking. I want to go back to driving you and the kid wherever you needed to go. Am I asking for the moon? Is it too much? 

I don’t want another two weeks in the bubble box and jacket, but if that’s my reality, then maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to open the wounds again. I’d give my next breath to see you again.


	7. Journal #7 July "I will always find you."

No, I didn’t go through with it, Regina. Don’t look at me with that tone of voice. Even if there’s the slim chance that I’m going to see you, I’m not going to fuck that up. Yes, yes, I know what I did before. It was stupid and, obviously, it didn’t bring you here like I thought it would. I was hurt and felt abandoned, and I honestly thought they’d entertain finding a way to get you here if I did something stupid. You can always count on me to do something dumb, right Babe?

Crying myself to sleep didn’t bring you back. The blood-soaked pillowcase and bedding didn’t bring you rushing through my door. 

The anger. 

The fighting. 

The screaming. 

The bitter refusal of the dissolvable pills.

The voices in my head.

The pounding on the white walls until I’d made a flower mural of fists under the out-of-reach window. 

Where’s my fierce Queen, huh? Where the fuck is she? Where is the woman who razed villages to the forest ground and hunted Snow White with bloodlust? Where are you? They won’t let me have my ring. You know the one. White gold, two swan wings holding the pearl. My. wedding. Ring. Did those vows mean nothing to you? I’m rotting in this place while you’re wherever the fuck you are, Henry’s off galivanting with God-knows-who, and neither my parents nor “friends” have come here to see me. Even if you don’t take them seriously, I do. When I get out of here, and I do mean when, you’re going to spend the rest of our lives making this shit up to me. 

I mean it, Regina. You’re going to let me cook whatever the hell I want, sleep in that extra ten minutes you never let me because I “take too long putting on my pants,” and you’re sure as shit going to let me buy the real ice cream that I like. Not that low-fat, sugar-free, cruelty-free shit that I can’t even remember all of the tag-lines for. I’m going to eat the whole damn thing in one sitting, in my underwear, in front of Henry’s Xbox, and I don’t give a single shit who walks in and sees me. Hell, I might even do it at the station! Watch me! From now on, I’m going to patrol in flip-flops if I want to. Okay. Maybe not. But, I’m definitely not watching that goddamn medical show again. That’s a hard line and I’m sticking to it.

I love you.

I’ll figure this out.

I will find you. I will always find you.


	8. September: No one was coming to save the Savior.

_Emma woke to the sudden pain in her face, the taste of copper filling her mouth. She tried to roll closer to the wall but arms yanked her back and she felt restraints wrap around her thin wrists._

_“What the fuck? Let me go!” Emma screamed, kicking her legs out._   
_ “The sooner you calm down, Swan, the sooner it’ll all be over.”_

_The muscle in her right arm burned suddenly._

_“No!”_

_The second blow of the night landed in her left orbital, pain and light flashed harshly in her head._

_“Let me go,” her voice was a quiet, broken plea, “I just want to go home.”_

_One of the figures above her laughed and the restraints tightened around her ankles._

_“Oh, yeah. You’re going somewhere alright.”_

_Strapped to the metal-framed bed was where Emma Swan sobbed herself into a deep slumber, soul shattered, and blood dripping from her slackened jaw. As twilight slipped peacefully into early morning and bloodshot eyes groggily cracked open, it became quite clear that no one was coming to save the Savior._


	9. Journal Entry #8 October "This is far worse than just a place without magic."

Two Weeks Later

The voices are back again. They said the pills would help. They said the chemicals in my head are misfiring and causing me to hear things. I have an imbalance. That’s why I think you exist and Henry isn’t our Henry. I have to wear glasses now, something about me thrashing around in my sleep during a bad nightmare and I hit my head on the bed. I don’t remember any of it, but I guess it makes sense. 

The docs tell me I’ve been here for almost two years now. What a crazy thought. Almost two whole years in this place. Alone. I’m really starting to believe everything is in my head. You. Henry. Our life together. The Regina I know, wouldn’t just disappear and leave me here to go insane. The Regina I know, would tear down the wallpaper of the space-time continuum to protect the ones that she loved. 

Maybe I am insane.

Maybe I never mattered to you.

Maybe none of this is real and I deserve to decay in my self-made prison.

Did I ever tell you about my fourth foster home? The Alexi’s? That was the one with the little boy that would draw math equations in the dirt. Our foster dad hated him for it. He hated how smart the kid was and how stupid it made him look. Jackson was his name. Our foster dad used to call him Jackie Boy because it irritated Jackson. All Jackson wanted to do was solve equations; it gave him inner peace and something to control when everything else was garbage. I didn’t understand exactly what math was to him until I found a purpose, too. Foster Dad didn’t see it that way, he refused to try to understand any of it. He used it against him. He’d play shit off when the social workers came around like he was helping Jackson with his math problems, but what he actually did was switch out the papers they were working on with new ones any time Jackson turned his back and the worker lady came to talk to me. But, I saw it. I saw it every time and I saw how fucked up it made him. 

At first, Jackson accused our foster dad of switching the papers. That ended pretty fast when the asshole rebutted with his fists. The papers continued being switched, Jackson thought he was going insane because his self-confidence was getting warped, and our foster dad got his jollies off. It was sick. 

I can’t tell if this place is another foster dad situation or if I’m actually going insane. Up feels like down, hope feels like despair, and life’s color has leached out and died. This is far worse than just a place without magic.


	10. Journal Entry #9 "Even when I'm dead."

Today is my birthday.

I’m 35 years old.

I’m still scribbling in this goddamn notebook, and you’re still not here.

  
  
  
  


You must really hate me.

  
  


That’s okay, Babe. 

  
  


I’ll always love you. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


<strike> Even when I’m dead. </strike>


	11. "Find me."

** _Inside the Charming Family Castle in The Enchanted Forest_ **

The broad, solid-oak doors of the War Chamber’s entryway slammed open with a resounding hollow thud. A brisk clicking of heeled boots ricocheted throughout the sparsely furnished room. 

“Why in the hell are all of you just  _ sitting _ here?” a voice commanded at the weathered round table ahead.

The chair leftmost to the boisterous woman scraped back, a petite figure stood and crossed the room to the entrance.

“Regina, I-”

A heeled foot stomped petulantly as sequin-covered hands shot outward in a silencing motion, violet fire twinkling in one and silver sparks in the other.

“Don’t you dare tell me you’ve failed again.”

“Regina, please. Come sit with us.”

Cognac eyes narrowed, the thick black eyeliner nearly masking the inner flame threatening to burst from bloodshot eyes.

“Perhaps I need to repeat myself, as it is becoming quite clear there is nothing but incompetence wasting the oxygen in this room.” 

Regina sidestepped Belle and began stalking around the table, the occupants now beginning to get uncomfortable with the increased tension and their friend’s inability to diffuse the Queen’s fury. They knew they’d failed and that there’d be consequences to pay, and they knew Regina was just getting started.

“Years. You fools have had  _ years _ to find her, to find our son,” Regina’s voice cracked at the mention of Henry a fireball manifested and blew through the closest window. “You convene here weekly, you supposedly have leads to their whereabouts, and yet, you have not found them!”

She abruptly stopped walking and swung an arm in the direction of the table and it lifted into the air to crash against the opposing wall, shattering into slivers of wood. The remaining four who were seated where the table was flinched and a high-pitched cry of protest rang out.

“Regina, that’s enough!” 

The entire room could feel the last strand of restraint the Queen possessed snap and the owner of the disapproving voice slammed like a rag-doll from her chair to the floor in front of Regina’s feet. 

“You. Will. Not. Tell. Me. What. Is. Enough.” Regina seethed, breath labored. “They have been missing for one-thousand, nine-hundred, and twenty two days. Nearly five and a half years I’ve been without my wife and son, and you have the gall to sit in your cushioned chair, dictating to  _ me _ when enough is enough. How fucking dare you, Snow White. Henry would have never picked up that pen and written if you hadn’t encouraged him. Emma would have never been vulnerable to the darkness had it not been for your insistent pushing and your idiotic sense of herioc pep-talks where you paint yourself in brilliance while everyone else is in crimson. Your simplistic, peasant-minded self-importance is precisely why we are here. It is precisely why I-” 

The words caught in Regina’s throat and her voice quaked with sadness. 

“Why the heart in my chest can’t stop bleeding.”

Regina crumbled to the floor, shaking hands covered her face and the previous need to hide the pain was overpowered by the grief that burned like acid through her being. 

“Regina…”

The magic that had captivated Snow White had long disappeared and the other woman laid freely on the floor next to the Queen, arms outstretched and eyes glassy as they met Regina’s. 

“Am I ever going to find them?”

The quiet question was the last thing spoke before Regina couldn’t hold herself upright any longer and allowed herself to be pulled into Snow’s arms. The two women laid on cold, stone floor long after the room had cleared, dinner was served throughout the castle, and the servants had retired to their quarters for the evening. 

  
  
  
  


** _Meanwhile, in the Asylum…_ **

Emma tossed and turned on the uneven mattress, deeply dwelling inside a drug-induced sleep and never-ending series nightmares.

_ Glimmering colors blended together in a bright fog, blurring everything in front of her. Emma reached out to touch one of the more solid-seeming concentrations of color, but quickly retracted her hand when a sharp prick stabbed each of her fingertips. Blood pooled and dripped too quickly for a regular injury. The crimson swirled into the fog, muddying the pastels to a chalky brown. She tried wiping the blood off on her pant legs but was met with bare skin. The frantic wiping motion left large angry streaks across the expanse of both thighs and Emma began to whimper. The thickest concentration within the streaks bubbled up, popping and spilling down her legs like acid, burning the flesh as it dripped. _

_ “What the fuck!” Emma screamed, expression distraught and looking from leg to leg. _

_ _ _ Before she could come to a decision, the nightmare shifted. The surrounding fog dissipated and color drained to grey. Emma Swan found herself rooted in place, lungs burning, and completely submerged in pitch-black water. Internally, Emma pleaded with whatever deity would listen, praying for relief, begging for a less painful way to die. She thought of her son, his handsomely unkempt hair and inability to put his socks in the hamper. She thought of her parents, their disgustingly admirable love for each other, belief in the strength of hope, and how all they’d wanted was for everyone to be a family.  _

_ Family.  _

_ She was all alone, separated from her family and friends. She thought of Ruby and Granny, their loving and constant bickering during the lunch rush. Archie and Pongo, their daily walks down Main Street where they’d stop at the station for a quick hello and Emma would not-so-covertly sneak the Dalmatian a treat from her hidden stash in the bottom drawer of her desk. Gold and Belle, Leroy and the dwarves, and Mother Superior and the rest of the fairies. She knew she was forgetting something, someone.  _

** _Regina_ ** _ .  _

_ The memories of her love hit her hard, a tightening in her chest matched the pain in her struggling lungs. The sadness of missed moments and longing washed over her being, colder than the water confinement she found herself. It was with that thought she released a muffled, bubbling scream of anguish. The water pulsed with the sound and suspended in a frozen bubble, silver light emanated from the Savior’s frame. Emma dropped to the wet ground, chest heaving with labored breaths, and she clenched fists with determination.  _

_ “You’re lost, but not forgotten, Regina Mills. I will find you. Keep the light on. I’m coming home.” _

Regina gasped, jerking violently awake from her slumber and sat up shakily, stunned. 

“It couldn’t be…” she whispered to herself, tears swelling. 

The Queen took a difficult breath and threw back the covers, not bothering to question how she’d ended up in her chambers after the outburst earlier. A quick flick of her wrist and she was clothed in riding clothes with her hair pinned into a braided bun. She scribbled a brief message onto a nearby piece of parchment and magicked it to the desired recipient before transporting herself to the stables. Her royal horse didn’t take long to rouse and prepare for travel. The final latch was secured and Regina mounted the stead, the cold breeze sending goosebumps down her exposed arms. She grasped the reins and stared lovingly down at her ring finger, the delicate pearl glinting in the moonlight. 

“Wherever you are, find me, Darling. I’m here. Find me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about that for a cliffhanger, hm? Do we wish to continue?


End file.
